Outrealm Tales
by Xanedis
Summary: This story has many crossovers, with only one uniting thread that is Fire Emblem(so, understandably, it isn't in the crossover section). It contains many what-if scenarios as the Fire Emblem people meet with some rather curious personas and famous characters.
1. Chapter 1

**Off-topic: Just had a strange idea, and wanted to see how it would go. This chapter isn't my usual quality, but I needed to flex my muscles slightly before moving on in Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair.**

* * *

**Outrealm Tales**

_Right choices_

* * *

"You know why we are having this talk, don't you", the fabulously dressed man said to the youth, who had only few days ago discarded his old wardrobe in favor of a polo shirt and a pair of trendy jeans. They still felt very odd to him, hardly like the light stuff they had used in Ylisse; those garbs and garments had always abdicated looks in favor of mobility, and had no such restrictive qualities as his jeans did. The youth was still trying to wrap his head around the idea of wearing clothes that blatantly restricted his abilities as a warrior.

"I suspect so", he answered from curtly, leaning against one of the walls in the majestic house. Such had always been his manner, in Ylisse and now here, on this very strange realm where nothing was like it seemed. "This is about my actions concerning those ruffians, no?"

"Yes, Gerome", the man said, nodding heavily. His usually jovial face – which Gerome suspected to be but a mask among others - turned grim and frustrated. "You almost killed them. That is not how we do things here."

"But any society is better off without those dastards", Gerome retorted, trying to the astonishment he felt. Killing bandits and thieves was a vital condition for surviving in the world he had come from.

"I wholeheartedly agree, however… We don't kill them; we imprison them."

"Had my world been any different, I would think the same", Gerome admitted. "But after a long period of seeing the strong prey on the weak, it became a much better choice to simply kill them."

"Highly understandable, considering your world was ravaged by a zombie apocalypse."

"Is being ravaged", Gerome corrected. "And it was Grima that did it."

"Has been, will be; that's the thing about inter-dimensional travel, you never know", the man said, brushing off dust from his clothes. "And believe me; I know a thing or two about other dimensions."

Gerome shrugged his shoulders. He had no reason to doubt the man's words. The person, that Gerome had thought to be yet another playboy, knew a lot more than he let on. His sense of honor was rather awkward though; the man never killed, and he enforced those opinions on Gerome. _It is a thing of this world, _he had said to Gerome, and the wyvern rider found it hard to live by that rule. Whenever Gerome saw another mugging, robbing, or an assault, he was filled with rage, as the memories flooded his mind; torched homes, killed children lying around villages, and the memory of his father being assaulted by a bandit, his old spear breaking in the assault of the bandit's axe, and the inevitable end approaching his head like the grim sun of Gerome's world.

The wyvern rider grimaced heavily as the brunt of memories hit him again. He turned away from the man and faced the window, seemingly beholding the estate, but really only escaping that which lay in his past.

"I knew a man once, one who had sworn to not kill", the man said silently, not bothering to approach Gerome. "Time passed as he kept his promise, and he became admired by all for his steely resolve. But one day… he came to my house, downcast and distraught over something. Something really bad."

Gerome didn't move as he gazed far away, trying to avoid beholding memories long past.

"After a discussion it became apparent to me that he had, in a burst of anger, killed one of his arch-enemies. I was confused at first; he was the highest standard for us all, yet then it was _he _that broke our one absolute rule. He made me wonder what'd happen to us all."

Gerome jerked involuntarily, unable to stop listening to the man's story.

"But then the circumstances became clear; in the place where the two fought, there had been no others. No friends to shout him to back off, no enemies to request mercy. And so, when the anger took him, there was no one to withhold his hand. He has regretted that choice ever since."

Gerome stood silent, pondering; he could relate himself to the man in the story. No, he had not killed his archenemy, but many people's blood covered his hand. Justified or not, it was only a revenge for his father's death; thus, the blood began to hurt, and it burned.

Had it been justice? Gerome couldn't tell; he could not hope to choose right after so many different choices, all bad and worse.

So he kept looking forward, through the window, lacking answers.

"Redemption doesn't come cheap", the man said, and Gerome heard him walk toward the door. "But it is there, somewhere. So did that man believe, too, and he found it after years of seeking."

"Do you still know the man", Gerome asked gruffly. The man opened the door leading outside the room, and stopped.

"I do. He is my closest friend", he answered, and it became silent for a while in the room.

After a good while Gerome turned toward the man, waving his right hand toward the windows. "Tennis?"

"Sure, if you don't mind a beating", the man said, playfully smirking toward him.

"Always ready to squash a bat", Gerome stated matter-of-factly, and the man's eyes narrowed slightly, still not overshadowing his playfulness.

"Careful with that", he rebuked the youth, but couldn't hide the joyful glee in his eyes. "If you and Minerva hadn't stumbled on me while I was on my business, you would still be none the wiser for my persona."

Gerome snorted. It was true that the man's alter ego would've stayed a secret to them, if not for the fact that the caped crusader had pointed them to immediately contact a man named Wayne; the rest had been revealed by Minerva's acute sense of smell.

The man had showed Gerome much kindness and patience in teaching him about the world he now resided in, even while seeking for a way to return the wyvern rider to his world. Yet Gerome found himself having a selfish wish to stay here for a while longer, to become closer friends with the man.

Maybe it wouldn't last, but at least he would have a story to bring back to his friends.

A story about a man, and his mistakes; a story about right choices, and how far they would lead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Off-topic: Alright, I'll explain this thing for you. This whole series is a new concept, in which we have the most outlandish(or fitting) cross-overs that one could ever find, and if there is an interest to a one-shot, I will consider making a shortish(or slightly longer story out of it). It will be non-canon, and I'll only write it during my off-times, but I think you'll want to check this next story out. I certainly liked writing it.**

**It is labeled Chapter 1, because it might get a continuation. I certainly have some ideas.**

**Enjoy.**

**Also, I'm really sorry that it is that short, but at least there is room to continue now :P.**

* * *

**Outrealm Tales**

_**Chronicles of Owain and Cynthia, Chapter 1:**_

_Chasing the destiny_

* * *

"OWAIN, YOU ARE GOING TOO FAST!" Cynthia shouted, holding the youth's waist while desperately trying to stay saddled on the infernal_ thing_, one that breathed fire out of its buttocks and launched forward in an uncontrollable dash whenever Owain so prompted. Arid desert landscape ran past them in almost a blur, as both of them traversed forward looking for something lost: a friend, whose body wasn't among those found in the wreckage that had once been their new home.

Cynthia gritted her teeth in terror and leaned forward even more, causing much discomfort to herself; she didn't wear her armor anymore, as the weather was far too hot for it. Owain didn't mind the pressure on his back; his face kept looking straight forward, resolute and firm.

"We are going to jump!" he shouted as one of the larger dynes approached them from the front. Cynthia yelped, and then they began to speed up the slope, the desert wind and sand gusting past them, making it uncomfortable to breathe. The speeder-bike – as the thing was called – buckled when it reached nothing but air at the end of the ramp, and rapidly began falling downwards while keeping its almost deadly momentum.

They landed on the desert sands, the speeder-bike almost scraping the ground, and the whole thing bolted forward again, jerking Cynthia backwards.

"CAN YOU EVEN SEE THE TRACKS?!" she screamed, unsure whether her hold would last.

"Still clear, but I sure hope we don't get another sandstorm!" Owain shouted back. Cynthia shuddered; sandstorms of this world were a highly impractical force of nature, drowning whole abodes in sand and disrupting the local farming activity whenever they hit. Caught out in the open, they could even kill a man.

Of course, women were no exception to the rule; thus, Cynthia felt highly alarmed, even close to panicking. She could face dragons, soldiers and magic, but this threat that would kill them if their luck ever happened to turn for the worse… It made the cold claw of terror grasp her soul.

And then there was the strange feeling, a thing that she could only explain away as a premonition of sorts; sometimes surges of dark emotions surrounded her, making Cynthia glance around quickly to see whether someone was about to get her. On other times, translucent waves of peace washed over the girl, especially when she had been near the farm that had become their new home.

And now it was destroyed, and all that had been there had been killed. All that was left was their friend, and the tracks led to a certain city, also known as the 'armpit of the galaxy'.

* * *

"Get the rogue!"

Easier said than done; as two men approached the seemingly unarmed man, he brought his blaster to the hip and fired away. Three shots, two deaths, and enough chaos to fill a whole imperial dreadnought ensued. In that chaos the famous smuggler thrived; he gave quite a few cheap shots before anyone else in the cantina understood what was going on.

And then began the brawl. Different species - ranging from twi'leks to wookies - took chairs – although some of the stronger alien races picked up whole tables, caring not whether they had been nailed to the floor – and assaulted each other, unsure whether the guy whose head they bashed in was an ally or an enemy. It was only after a few good, solid minutes of smack-and-whack, that the spacers began drawing their blasters, but by then the rogue and his three companions were already running away from the cantina, towards one of the many hangars of Mos Eisley.

But the trouble wasn't over for them; in fact, it had barely even started.


	3. Chapter 3

**Off-topic: To be honest, these Outrealm Tales are nothing more than mere scribbling that I do to make sure I write, even if I don't feel like it. I save Everlasting Bonds for those days I feel like I can take on that story's challenges. Happens more of than not, surprisingly, but this series has its own merits too.**

**For example, I can write strange stories like this :P.**

**Aaaaand the next one might be even stranger.**

* * *

**Outrealm Tales**

_Lucina's mansion_

* * *

The very air in this place vibrated with eeriness. There was no strange miasma, no strange fog, yet the atmosphere felt strange. It was an unnatural place, dark, and full of terrors.

Yes, she had faced more fearsome things than the things lurking here. Risen had killed her comrades, her parents, and Grima had destroyed the future from which she hailed. Still, the air of this place unnerved her, making her grasp for her sword.

But the golden blade wouldn't be of use in this dark house filled with the spirits of long past persons. And the arrogant portraits did not help in easing the mood.

She exhaled slowly, keeping her gaze to the far end of the corridor, where it curved abruptly to the right. That was where her companion had gone, to investigate this place further.

But that had happened quite some time ago, and Lucina was growing fidgety. She took a look at her sides - an act normally unnecessary in the enclosed corridor - and took a careful step forward. It echoed unnaturally, and the heavy air of the room wavered nervously. She took another, and the eyes of the portraits turned to follow her.

She bolted forward, not caring for the portrait's reactions anymore; the only thing she wanted to do was to help her companion save his brother, and be done with this place beyond the grave.

She quickly regretted her rash choice, as the walls began to emit glowing, translucent mass that formed shapes. Each creepy ball of white formed three slits on its surface, and they opened, revealing absurdly big eyes and mouths with long, seemingly uncomfortable tongues. The creatures' malignant eyes immediately darted to Lucina who was running through the corridor, hoping to reach her friend before these things abducted her, too.

Shrieking laughter screamed from one end of the corridor to the next. Lucina closed her mind and kept running, figuring that if she could keep the voice out of her head she would be fine.

Her being trembling, she approached the end of the corridor, where the path would turn to right. Ethereal swooshing came from behind her, multiplied by the amount of spirits running, or rather, levitating towards her. Air felt suddenly much colder, as Lucina took the turn to the right.

Immediately after taking it, she regretted her choice.

From that direction, his companion was approaching, not walking, but running. And behind him, multitudes of these balloon-y spirits followed.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

The man dressed in simple blues and greens had his hands lifted up, probably for comedic effect, running forward with what seemed to be reckless abandon. His feet kept passing each other so fast, that Lucina was starting to think that her companion had a future as a messenger of war.

Preferably not someone like the mad king Gangrel, though, or Luigi would find himself a head shorter in no time.

"I- I see you had no luck either!" Lucina shouted, as both of them were about to meet each other and get squished between the hollow and absolutely terrifying ghosts. Luigi spread his arms to his both sides, shrugging his shoulders while mixing apology with terror on his face. Lucina would have sighed, but this situation demanded her full focus.

_*creeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaak*_

One of the doors to her right opened, calling Lucina, and Luigi who was going on with a speed that would surely make the man crash, towards the unknown.

"Do we really- No! Luigi, we are going in!" Lucina shouted. Grabbing the smaller man so that his legs started spinning mid-air, she turned Luigi towards the door and released him.

The result: a faster-than-light plumber running up the stairs like an army of ghosts were upon him. Unfortunately, Lucina was further behind, so the case actually was that the spirits were more likely to swallow _her_… And do whatever was their nasty business.

She sped up the stairs lit up with green lanterns, which, upon closer inspection, weren't green per se; it wasn't the glass that was colored, but the flames that danced on candle wicks. Roof felt like it was pressing down, even if Lucina could not reach it, and the passage felt narrow, even if Lucina could barely reach its walls.

A scream of crazily proportioned horror came from beyond the door that led outside. Dashing forward to the rain and thunder, Lucina gazed forward, trying to see, and her heart nearly jumped out of her throat.

"MAMMA SU-MIA!" she exclaimed. In front of her, half sunk to the slanted roof she had been running on, was the mother of all ghosts. Something in Lucina's mind made her doubt the validity of that statement, seeing as Professor had called it a 'king' of sorts. King Something…

Lucina moved her hand to grasp Falchion, only to remember that it was useless now. She glanced around to look for Luigi, and saw him covering near a creepy, large weather vane.

"Huehuehueh," the great ghost chuckled mischievously, blinking its eyes. Behind Lucina, the door she had come out of slammed shut. Tremors traveled through the crown princess's spine.

The 'king' of ghosts levitated upwards slowly, chuckling in what seemed to be reckless abandon, repeatedly flipping around in the air. Lucina had seen such a display once before, Grima dancing in the air on the Shepherd's destroyed main encampment in Regna Ferox.

Dancing, as the children were forced to leave without their parents.

Lucina grit her teeth and ran towards trembling Luigi, the ghost king's chuckles following her.

…Following her FAR TOO CLOSE!

Rolling to her right, Lucina hit the slanted roof of the mansion hard, but her dexterous nature and years of practice allowed the crown princess to quickly rise up to the feet again. She saw the giant blob of white pass through the point where she had just been. Somehow, she had just avoided a full-on collision with the big ghost. Or a full-on swallowing, as its mass would have fully enveloped her. Lucina didn't know enough about ghost anatomy to make the call about what would have happened.

"Boo," the spirit said, its eyes rolling to its backside.

And that's when Lucina remembered.

The ghost's name - it was 'King Boo'.


	4. Chapter 4

**Off-topic: A very short piece, since I haven't been updating much lately. Its not Princess Bride, but it should still be... somewhat interesting.**

**Everlasting Bonds is on a short hiatus(5 or so days) as I figure how to write the next chapter, and then start it. I am writing a Fire Emblem one-shot at the moment, a story about Morgan and Severa solving a 'crime' in Ylissean war camp. I hope you will like it, but it remains to be seen. I will be applying all I have learned into it, and hopefully, it will be an interesting one.**

**But I hope you enjoy this one. Have fun.**

* * *

**Outrealm Tales**

_The hero and the pirate_

It was the very first time Inigo had been in a predicament like this.

Wild men, savages really, danced around a fire under the scorching midday sun, half naked and painted, sometimes quickly eyeing the prisoners. And if their gaze fell on the prisoners for a longer time, hunger could be seen glistening in those eyes.

One man among the wild men was different and the savages seemed to worship him as their god. He was a fidgety sort of a man, always walking as if he were in a small high, whether from alcohol or the more unpleasant stuff. Inigo himself kept strictly to drinking tea, except maybe during the bigger festivities. Morbidly enough, there was a party brewing up at the moment, and the main course would be Inigo, and the men in the other cages.

_Delightful. I wonder if they bother to marinade us before eating. _Regardless the fact that the thought was self-conceived, it sent cold worms up Inigo's spine. How he wished to be back in the Grima-destroyed future, rather than here, on this Naga-forsaken island.

"Nonono! Look at their hands, they're shriveled like yesterday's chicken," Inigo heard the strange man talk to the savages. His words came out in a thick accent, heavy enough to make a regular craftsman stumble. It was not beautiful to listen to.

"And this mate here," the strange man continued, walking to Inigo's uncomfortable cage. "An eunuch. Snipsnip," the man said, bringing two of his fingers together as if he were cutting yarn.

"Hardly!" Inigo protested immediately, flabbergasted at the man's words. "I am a man in both body and soul."

"Mate's also mad," the man continued, nodding twice like a court jester attempting to convince somebody. "Not good meat, spoiled. Crazed-man disease."

The savage tapped his biceps and pointed at Inigo. The meaning was clear. _Strong man. _He continued by pointing at Inigo, and gestured eating something. Then he hit his chest, tapping his biceps again. Inigo didn't like the implications.

_I eat him, I become strong._

The thick-accented man pursed his lips, looking at Inigo's eyes. His body swayed strangely. Inigo felt the back of his head, where a sizable bump was forming. Was his condition worse than he thought it to be? When the savages had ambushed Inigo, his lights had gone out in an instant.

"That… piece of steel on your shoulder is bound to have some sharp edges," the man said suddenly. Inigo stepped backwards, wondering whether the man would try to take his shoulder piece away. "Wouldn't it be a shame if you escaped from here, hmm?"

The man turned around and walked towards the fire, lifting his arms up and speaking something that Inigo could only consider as gibberish. The man's actions appeared as pure, mind-dissolving madness. And no, the shoulder piece of Inigo's armor did not have any sharp edges. What had the man been going on about?

Inigo felt the armor piece with his fingers. It was strapped on more tightly than he remembered. He made sure to move inconspicuously as he untied the leather straps, and pulled it off. A small piece of iron wire dropped to the ground from beneath.

Inigo knelt to pick it up and gazed at it incredulously. _He expects this to help me out of here?! Is he mad?_

Of course he was. Inigo didn't like his options as he began to slowly scrape away the rope binding his cage together.


End file.
